Red Roses and Sunshine
by lydiamaartin
Summary: Perhaps red roses are just a bit cliche, especially when you're named Rose Weasley. But Lysander was never big on avoiding cliches, anyway. - RoseLysander


**Disclaimer: I don't own anybody you recognize.**

**Written for Beth's Prompts challenge, with the prompts 'shine', 'pure', 'fist', and 'tattoo'.

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**It's hard to imagine a girl prettier than Rose Weasley, and Lysander Scamander says that knowing both Victoire and Dominique Weasley perfectly well.

He's well-used to the two part-Veela Weasley sisters' particular brand of radiance. Both of them can _shineshineshine_ as bright as the sun and stars, dancing through life in a flurry of sparkles and glitter. If he's being honest, the rest of the Potter-Weasley girls are much the same way. The entire family has a way of being dazzling particularly if they have red hair.

But Rose, she's special, and sometimes, Lysander wonders if he's the only one who sees it.

He's quite certain that Scorpius Malfoy doesn't, at any rate.

Rose is the kind of girl who shines like ocean light, if Lysander was going for metaphors—which he never is, because he's not all that good with words. But the ocean is perhaps the only metaphor available to describe Rose Weasley—gorgeous and glowing and bright in the most subtle way he's ever seen.

"Hey, there, Rosie," he greets her one sunny day, having managed to sneak away from his brother and Molly and Lucy to seek Rose out amongst the crowd gathered at the Burrow for a traditional Weasley family lunch. She's sitting on a bench in the shade of a chestnut tree, a book open on her lap.

She looks up, blue eyes curious about who'd dare to interrupt her reading. "Oh, hello, Lysander."

He grins, kneeling down next to her so that they're eye-level. "What are you reading?"

Rose laughs. "I'm writing, actually."

"Oh?" Lysander raises an eyebrow at her and tries not to give away the fact that simply being in her presence is infusing him with butterflies. "You still keep a diary?"

She whacks his arm with the book. "Yes. I was in the process of recording our little family reunion when you so _rudely_ interrupted—"

He smirks. "'Little'? Really, Rose? Also, I seem to recall _you_ being the one to whack me with a heavy book."

Rose smothers her giggles. "Oh, shut up."

Lysander reaches up, grabbing a drifting leaf, and depositing it on top of her auburn curls. "Sure thing," he says cheerfully, watching in amusement as she brushes off the leaf. "So, have you seen Teddy or Victoire around lately?"

"No," Rose draws out the word, leaning away from him as he tries to shower her with more leaves. "Why?"

He grins wickedly. "Isn't it a little strange that those two are always missing at the same time?"

Rose rolls her eyes, an affectionate smile on her face. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Ly, they're engaged. Stop trying to create drama."

"All I'm saying is maybe our resident model couple isn't as pure as they seem," Lysander says, an innocent smile on his face.

She smacks him again, this time with her hand, and he pretends to hurt for a moment just to satisfy her. "They haven't taken any purity vows or something. And considering they have to deal with the rest of us on a daily basis, I think they deserve it."

"The rest of us?" Lysander asks, smirking. "Are you including yourself in that description? I never had you pegged for one of the crazy redheads around here."

Rose huffs. "First of all, _no_. And second of all, I am _not_ a redhead."

He eyes her head full of dark auburn curls doubtfully. "That looks pretty red to me, Rosie."

Rose's hands curl into fists. "I'm brunette," she insists, startling him with her vehemency. "Lily and Roxie and Molly and Lucy are redheads. I'm not."

"Why is it such a big deal for you?" Lysander asks, genuinely curious.

She stares at him for a moment with critical blue eyes before sighing, her fists relaxing. "I guess I just want to be different."

Lysander offers her his most charming, most sincere smile. "You _are_ different, Rosie."

"But I'm not," she insists. "I'm a redhead, I have blue eyes, I have freckles, I'm in Gryffindor, _just like everybody else_. Even dating Scorpius Malfoy didn't make me different—now Lily's dating him, too!"

He drums his fingers on the bench for a moment. "Is that why you got a tattoo last summer?"

Rose's gaze snaps up to him, astonishment written across her features. "Pardon?" she asks, her voice squeaky and nervous—she's never been good at lying, and Lysander knows that.

"Your tattoo," he says, sliding his hands up her arm, lifting up the sleeve of her blouse in the process. "This one."

Both pairs of eyes, one blue, one green, look down at the small, bright red tattoo decorating her shoulder. The ink forms a beautifully detailed rose, and among the petals, in black ink, is her name. It is, as far as tattoos go, classy and pretty, Lysander thinks, but Rose isn't smiling.

She laughs, instead, a litte bitterly. "I was trying to be different," she admits, though he already knew that. "I figured I could be the first grandkid with a tattoo."

"You are, aren't you?" he asks, a little confused. "So what's the problem?"

Rose rolls her eyes. "The problem is, this is _so_ cliché. Everyone would have chosen a red rose for me if they were giving me a tattoo. In hindsight, I wish I'd picked something different, something bolder, something _unique_—but I was too scared to."

"Why?" he asks, gingerly touching the rose. She shivers at his touch, and he quickly withdraws his hand.

"I don't know," Rose admits, smiling a little bitterly. "I guess, when it comes down to it, I'm still just another Weasley."

Lysander catches and holds her gaze. "I don't think you are, Rosie," he tells her softly, honestly. "I think you're pretty damn special—you just can't see it."

Rose raises an eyebrow. "What can't I see?" she asks, almost daring him, challenging him for an answer.

He shrugs. "You can't see that you're the only Weasley grandkid with _that _shade of red hair. The only grandkid who has memorized the best classic literature books. The only grandkid who understands Shakespeare. The only grandkid with a tattoo. The only grandkid who I—"

"Who you what?" Rose presses when he trails off.

Lysander laughs, trying to mask his nervousness. "The only Weasley grandkid I've ever had a crush on," he admits, feeling a blush warm his cheeks.

Both her eyebrows rise up. "Oh, really? I thought you liked Molly?"

"I thought I did, too," he grins. "When I was six. Honestly, Rose, how can you not have noticed? Perhaps I should add 'most oblivious grandkid' to that."

Rose giggles. "No, no, I think James wins that one."

He opens his mouth to retort when suddenly her hand is fisted in his shirt and she's pulling him forward, closer and closer to her lips—

"Wow," Lysander says dizzily when they part, his mind leaping around joyfully and his mouth full of her sweet cinnamon taste. "Merlin, Rose, if I'd known telling you I had a crush on you would get me a kiss, I would have told you years ago."

Rose laughs, snaking her arms around his neck. "To be honest, I think _you're_ the oblivious one out of the two of us, Ly," she whispers against his lips. "Say, how did you know about my tattoo, anyway?"

He pulls back to flash her a grin. "The tattoo artist was my dad's brother."

"Oh." She ponders on that for a moment. "Small world, huh?"

"Yeah," he agrees, right before he closes the gap between them for another cinnamon-flavored kiss. Above them, the sun shines bright—almost, he thinks, as bright as she does.

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**Author's Notes: All right, I have to admit, out of my Top 5 pairings (which these two are definitely on!), RoseLysander would be dead last. However, that doesn't mean I don't completely adore them, so writing this was a lot of fun! I hope you guys all enjoyed this, and if you bothered to read, please do review and tell me what you thought! Thanks so much in advance!**

**Also, please don't favorite without reviewing! Thank you =)**


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